


The Christmas Pickle

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Christmas Smut, Humor, John is a Saint, M/M, Sex, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-07 00:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8775358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Sherlock helps John with a Christmas tradition.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/gifts), [crazycatt71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazycatt71/gifts), [DaisyFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/gifts).



> John is pleased Sherlock is finally getting into the spirit of their upcoming Christmas party. He SHOULD be wondering why.

"Baby all I want for Christmas is you", John sang at the top of his lungs, while securing their live tree into the stand. Then, being the organized one, the lights soon followed.

 

"Sherlock, luv, want to come help with the ornaments?"

 

"Jawwwwnnnn", he drawled looking up from his experiment on pine tree sap, (at least the tree was good for something), "in your extensive knowledge of me, what leads you to believe I would?"

 

John smiled fondly, "You've been so good about everything else this year, I just thought you might."

 

"Do not mistake my tolerance of your 'man crush' on all things Christmas for a willingness to participate."

 

"Message received Mr.Grinch."

 

"Who?", the detectives's expression proving he was not joking.

 

"The Grinch who stole-oh never mind. Go back to your sap."

 

It would have pleased the doctor if his lover had taken more of an interest, but overall he was happy. Last year, Sherlock had fought even the smallest attempt at holiday cheer; but they hadn't been boyfriends then. John supposed the affection, not to mention the sex, had mellowed the detective from horrid to merely insufferable.

 

John chuckled to himself. Surely it was a testimony to how much he loved Sherlock if he considered insufferable to be an admirable character trait. For the next half hour, quiet ensued as Sherlock measured the viscosity of the pine sap, (his blogger would be satisfied with just calling it sticky,hmmpf), and John set about hanging the ornaments.

 

The volume of the crunch indicated not just something dropped, but something stepped on. Something glass.

 

"Oh damnit ! I broke my pickle", John groaned.

 

Slightly alarmed, Sherlock walked towards the tree. "John, is that some sort of obscure sexual reference of which I am unaware?"

 

The older man giggled, "No genius, I broke the pickle ornament."

 

Suddenly, Sherlock was intrigued. "We have a pickle ornament? Are there others, legumes, root vegetables, tubers?"

 

"Calm down farmer Holmes. No others, just a pickle."

 

"If this is not some sort of theme, why do we have a pickle?"

 

"Not everything is a complicated conspiracy twat, sometimes a pickle is just a pickle."

 

"I deduce that is not the case here, John."

 

"Well done as usual luv. The pickle ornament is just a bit of fun, a tradition if you will."

 

Sherlock sniffed, "Tradition and fun are not compatible."

 

"In this case they are. See it's like a game; someone hides the pickle deep in the tree branches and whoever finds it gets an extra gift from Father Christmas."

 

To Sherlock, tradition was boring, presents were not. "What kind of present, a jar of gerkins?"

 

"Only you would think that. It can be anything. I haven't bought it yet, but it has to be good for man or woman. Something any of our guests would like. Now though-"

 

"You seem disappointed John, and that is unacceptable. Perhaps had I assisted you, the pickle might not met an untimely end. Therefore, I shall take it upon myself to purchase not only a replacement pickle, but also the extra gift."

 

John couldn't hide his surprise. "Sherlock that isn't, you don't need to, no you know what, that would be fantastic! Thank you luv."

 

Later, John would wonder why that sudden burst of enthusiasm from Sherlock hadn't set off warning bells in his head.

••••••••

 

The night of the party arrived with just enough snow to be festive. Martha Hudson came up first, unable to resist her natural inclination to help. Mike Stamford arrived next with wine and two bouquets of red and white roses with ivy.

 

Sherlock protested that neither he nor John required flowers, and certainly not two bouquets. Recalling his admonition to the doctor months ago, "Yeah, he's always like that", the affable Stamford engaged in gentle teasing.

 

"As delightful as you two blokes are, I rather fancied giving these to the beautiful ladies who will be here tonight."

 

Sherlock looked around in confusion, "Who would that be?", he asked having noticed Molly had arrived just in time to hear the conversation.

 

John rolled his eyes, about to scold until, to his amazement, he realized Sherlock was teasing Mike back.

 

The ladies cooed over the flowers, and Sherlock noted Mike blushed as Molly kissed his cheek. 

 

"Oi! Playing spin the bottle already and me not even gotten my coat off yet?", Greg Lestrade's smoky voice boomed across the room. 

 

Sherlock stepped forward to take the coat. "Not wet", he observed, "stopped snowing then."

 

"Matter of fact, coming down a bit harder. Good luck to have Mycroft's umbrella to keep us out of the weather. He's downstairs putting it out to dry. He should be right along." 

 

At that moment, John reckoned had he lifted the hair off his lover's neck, he would have found Sherlock's eyebrows had migrated that far due to Greg's announcement.

 

"You came with my brother, together, here?"

 

"That is what arriving with one another usually implies, brother mine. Gregory was good enough to agree to be my date this evening. However I fear if you expire, it will rather put a damper on the party", Mycroft said with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

 

No one spoke for a minute, then Martha, bless her, grabbed Greg's hand and squeezed. "First official date then is it? And here at Baker Street. How lovely! You and Mycroft, Molly and Mike, and my two boys. Best Christmas ever!"

 

Lestrade, grateful for her intervention, put his arm around Martha and grinned, "Well, what about you Martha, shall I go out and handcuff someone to bring for you?"

 

"By no means Inspector. A man young enough to interest me would be too fast for you to catch." This brought a laugh from everyone, even Sherlock who, with the help of John's embrace, had managed to avoid swooning at the idea of Gargamel dating The British Government.

 

The evening really went quite well. Everyone enjoying the food, wine and each others company. Mike had found the courage to ask Molly for brunch the next morning, and was stunned to hear her say, "What took you so long?"

 

Finally, it was time for the gift exchange. "Sherlock, luv, everything ready?"

 

"Yes John, I assure you the pickle is securely placed in the boughs of the tree awaiting discovery."

 

"And the extra gift ?"

 

"In our bedroom. Wouldn't want anyone peeking."

 

The doctor kissed him warmly, "You've been so good tonight luv. Father Christmas might put you on his nice list this year."

 

Sherlock nodded, "That remains to be seen John. Let us make merry doctor."

 

Each person had drawn a name, and the gifts were well received. It was generally accepted, though, that it must have been more than chance that Molly just happened to have a "fresh" pancreas to present to Sherlock.

 

Then John explained the pickle search. "Each of you will pick a spot around the tree, and at the signal have a go. There's an extra gift for the winner. Alright- Ready Set Search!"

 

After five minutes, and a marked decline in enthusiasm, John was puzzled by the apparent failure of what should have been one last bit of fun. "NO ONE can find it? Maybe I can-"

 

"NO JOHN!", came the shout from everyone almost as one voice.

 

Martha, looking flushed, put a hand on John's shoulder, "Dear, it's on us that we can't find the prize. Rather than give up, let's do this again next year. That way we'll all be sure to be invited to another wonderful party."

 

Despite feeling confused, the blogger nodded. "If that's what all of you want-"

 

"YES!" There was that slightly creepy answer in unison again.

 

One by one, each guest made their good-byes. John was beginning to wonder if some of their carefully prepared food had been "off". Everyone seemed feverish and ill at ease, "Oh God," he thought, "have we poisoned our friends?" Sherlock, however, was strangely silent.

 

John was at the point of real concern when Martha, first to arrive and last to leave, patted Sherlock's cheek and linked her arm with the doctor's. "John, would you mind seeing me down the stairs. The wine has made me rather tipsy I fear."

 

"Of course. Sherlock, don't put the food up yet, I, ah, want to smell, I mean check it."

 

Sherlock snorted, "You assumed I would be rushing to do the washing up ?"

 

"Nevermind git, just wait till I get back."

 

Once at the downstairs flat, John ventured, "Martha, are you well? No stomach troubles? I only ask because near the end of the night all of you were acting so- Frankly I'm worried about food poisoning."

 

"Nonsense John, the food was fine. But there was a rather unsettling development near the end."

 

"I don't understand."

 

"Dear when you go back upstairs, have a look in the tree yourself. I believe the pickle is meant to stay in 221B." With a wink and a motherly kiss, she said goodnight.

 

Frowning, he went back to the flat to find not only had Sherlock NOT washed up or tidied, he was in the shower. "Tit!"

 

At least relieved that their guests didn't have salmonella, he walked over to the tree. "Git probably bought something so small you need his magnifying glass to see-" The words froze in his mouth as he parted the branches. He had most certainly discovered the Christmas Pickle.

 

Reaching carefully around the glass ornaments, his hand closed firmly around a pickle. An eight inch, bright green, silicone dill pickle. An eight inch, bright green, silicone dill pickle, that evidently vibrated AND served as a dildo. A vibrating dill pickle dildo. "Jesus Christ." He wanted to drop it, instead he kept squeezing the dill pickle dildo. "God Watson!", he said out loud. Stop thinking about the damn thing like it's being advertised on a bloody infomercial on telly!" 

 

Then, when he couldn't unsee the pickle, he saw the faces of their guests who peered into their Christmas tree, and saw- "SHERLOCK!"

 

Hearing John in the living room, the detective having showered, shaved, and groomed sauntered to their bedroom wearing nothing but a satisfied smirk. He didn't answer, he didn't need to.

 

John, still holding the 'prize', stomped into the bedroom to find Sherlock draped across the bed like a Christmas wet dream.

 

Looking through hooded eyes and licking his lips he purred, "Well done John, you found the pickle. And I told you the lucky winner's extra gift would be in our bedroom. You can't say I lied."

 

"Lied, THAT'S what you think concerns me? Our friends saw this, this vegetable. Our landlady, your brother, holy shit!"

 

"From their body temperatures, respirations and heart rates, I think perhaps we might have sent the two new couples home to their first happy ending. As for Hudders, I think there is nothing she hasn't seen or done for that matter. So what's the harm?"

 

"The harm? What am I going to do with you Sherlock Holmes?"

 

The younger man grinned, "I have an entire holiday list of suggestions Captain. For example, I've been told naughty boys get a switch in their stocking; and YOU sent me out to buy a pickle to hang in the tree. I did. You were hardly specific in your instructions."

 

"I didn't send you, you volunteered; and that should have put fear in my soul."

 

"John I spent the better part of an afternoon selecting the perfect pickle. Not a gerkin, not slices, not bread and butter; but a big, juicy, firm DILL-do pickle. In all honesty, I think you could show some appreciation for my efforts by at least trying it."

 

John turned towards the door and, briefly, Sherlock's bravado wilted, until, "I am going to put the food away, freeze your pancreas, lock up, and turn out the lights. Then, you and I are going to see about that switch!"

 

There hadn't been a switch, but John's hand was perfectly capable of turning Sherlock's plush arse the same color as Rudolph's nose; you could even say it glowed.

 

As for the Christmas Pickle, John used it with "relish". The vibrator had Sherlock "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and later had both men singing "Oh Hole-y Night" until at last they had come, come, come, come.

 

In the end, the DILL-do became 221B's favorite tradition every Christmas, making spirits bright. But never again did it hang in their Christmas tree, or act as a parlor game at parties.

 

And it has been said that, at Baker Street, from that Christmas on, Sherlock Holmes never refused vegetables EVER again!

 

Sleep in heavenly peas, sleep in heavenly peas.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of nonsense for ChrisCalledMeSweetie, crazycatt71, and DaisyFairy without whose encouragement THIS author would have been in a pickle. 
> 
> * The Christmas Pickle is supposed to have originated in Germany, but who knows.
> 
> ** To be better educated, I was, Google vegetable shaped sex toys, and be amazed. Dare you to look away from the eggplant !


End file.
